Jonathan Craig - The Case of the Petticoat Murder

“And all of them from Nadine,” Stan said.

“No,” Campbell said, “At least that isn't the name she gave me.”

“What name did she use?” I asked.

“Norma… uh… Edwards. That's it. Norma Edwards.”

I nodded. “Same initials,” I said.

Campbell was trying hard for the smile he'd lost a few moments ago. “It would seem your Miss Ellison did use a different name, after all.”

“You say she called you, but you didn't hold a conversation with her?” I said. “Why not?”

“For one thing, I didn't know her. And besides, it was a crank call. I've never received anything quite like it.”

“My partner and I are old hands at crank calls,” I said. “Tell us about it.”

“There's really very little to tell. When I picked up the phone, she asked if I were Doctor Clifford Campbell. When I said yes, she began to curse me. I tried to break in, but it was impossible. Finally, when she'd run out of breath, I told her she obviously had the wrong number, or that she'd confused me with some other Doctor Campbell.”

“And that was the extent of the call?” I asked.

“Not quite. She said I was the Doctor Campbell she'd meant to call, and that her name was Norma Edwards. Then she began to curse me again, and I hung up. She called back three times within the next five or ten minutes. I finally had to take the phone off the hook.”

“She threaten you in any way, Doctor Campbell?” I asked.

“Yes, she did,” he said. “And quite vehemently, too.”

“Can you be a little more specific?”

“She threatened me with all sorts of dire things. She included just about everything from a broken nose to the Eternal Fire.”

“Did she by any chance say you were going to be the sorriest son of a bitch that ever lived?”

“I believe she did make me some such promise, yes. It would be hard to think of something she didn't say.”

“You think she may have been drinking?”

“No. In my opinion, the woman was demented.”

“What was the general subject matter of the call?” I asked.

“I've just told you,” Campbell said. “Curses and threats.”

“My partner means, what did they apply to?” Stan said.

“I know what he means,” Campbell said. “But this was simply some kind of insane purging.” He spread his hands. “That's a purely legal term, of course, 'insane' — not a medical one. But nevertheless, it'll serve as a handy label.”

“Put it this way,” I said. “If we had a recording of that conversation, and went over it word by word, do you think we could find even so much as one tiny phrase other than threats and curses?”

“Do you have such a recording, Mr. Selby?”

“It wouldn't be unheard of,” I said.

“You do have one,” he said. “Otherwise you wouldn't have been able to repeat what she said about my being the sorriest son of a bitch alive.”

“Please answer the question, Doctor,” I said.

“No,” he said. “I mean, no, there was absolutely nothing other than threats and curses, except for her asking my name and telling me her own. Her assumed name, I realize now.”

“Have you any idea why she should have picked you for such a call?” I asked.

“None whatsoever.”

“Did she ever call you here at your office?” Stan asked.

“No.”

“There were just those four calls you told us about?” I asked.

“Yes. She never called again.”

“Is there anything in your personal life that might have prompted someone else to put her up to it?” I asked.

“What do you mean?”

“If you were having some kind of trouble with anyone, it's possible he or she might have gotten Nadine to call you.”

“You mean, a spite call?”

“Yes. It happens quite often, Doctor Campbell.”

“Yes, I suppose it does. But I don't think that was the case. My personal and professional life are both quite tranquil, Mr. Selby. And even so, my colleagues and acquaintances are hardly the kind who would even consider such a thing.”

“Wrong,” Stan put it. “People will do anything, Doctor, and you damn well know it.”

“You commute every day between here and Scarsdale?” I asked.

“No,” he said. “I have living quarters here. Whenever I want to stay in the city, I—”

His intercom buzzed and he leaned forward to press down the key. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Campbell is here, sir,” the receptionist's voice said.

Campbell frowned, then looked at me questioningly. “My wife is here,” he said. “We're going out to dinner.”

I didn't say anything.

“Will this take much longer?”

“I don't know,” I said.

He hesitated, then said, “Miss Hardesty, please tell my wife I'll be with her as soon as I can.”

“We'd like to ask her a few questions,” I said. “Why not ask her to come in?”

“Questions? What on earth about?”

“About your phone calls front Nadine Ellison.”

“This is ridiculous! My wife knows nothing about them.”

“We'll keep it brief, Doctor,” I said. “Ask her to step

He pressed the intercom key again. “Ask my wife to come in, Miss Hardesty,” he said. “Mr. Selby, I must tell you I consider this very much uncalled for. I'm not at all sure I won't find it necessary to write a letter to the Commissioner.”

“Be sure you make a copy for the American Medical Association,” Stan said.

A young girl stepped into the office, and I found myself glancing past her, expecting her to be followed by an older woman, who would be Mrs. Campbell. But there was no one behind her, and as she closed the door and approached us, I started getting used to the idea that this could actually be Mrs. Clifford Campbell. Middle-aged men married to teen-age girls may be no novelty in other parts of the country; but in New York City, at least on Campbell's social level, they are.

Mrs. Campbell was a honey-blonde, with deep-blue eyes beneath almost incredibly long lashes, a heart-shaped face that most people would call pretty rather than beautiful, and a firmly-rounded, provocative body molded by a strapless sheathlike dress of exactly the same deep-blue as her eyes. She was, I felt certain, no more than eighteen, and perhaps not quite that.

Campbell, Stan, and I had all come to our feet, of course, and now Mrs. Campbell walked to her husband, went up on her toes to kiss him on the mouth, and then turned to smile at us, her arm around his waist.

“Susan, these men are police officers,” Campbell said. “My wife, gentlemen.”

“Selby,” I said.. “This is my partner, Detective Rayder.”

She was not a very large girl, and, standing so lose to her husband, she seemed almost dwarfed.

“What's wrong, Clifford?” she asked, tilting her head to one side in order to smile up at him. “Has one of your patients been bad?”

“Somebody's patient has been up to something,” he said sourly. “Somebody's mental patient, I should say.”

She nodded, in that way women do when they don't really understand something said to them, and yet don't care enough about it to ask for an explanation. “It's getting late, darling,” she said, glancing at a wrist watch built into a wide gold bracelet. “if we expect to meet Bob and Peg in time for cocktails…”

Campbell cleared his throat, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “We'll have time,” he said, scowling at me. “Susan, Mr. Selby here would like to ask you a question or two.”

She turned back to face me. “Really?” she said. “Me? What in heaven's name about?”

“About that ridiculous phone call I got the other day,” Campbell said. “Why they should think it necessary to talk to either of us, I do not know.”